August 04, 2016

My Cargo Cult

I've been told that cargo shorts are out. Sometimes we get annoyed out here in California that New Yorkers are truly disturbed and misled, but I have come to understand how Gotham's residents are presided over by a clique of zillionaires and their myrmidons in the fashionable press. Out here at the beach we cannot be bothered to read those sort of clippings with anything from something so prosaic as begins with 'Dunkin', as we have our smartphones read us more interesting fare as we sip loose leaf tea. So we are annoyed but calm as our eyebrows give ever so slightly towards creasing.

Speaking as one of the leading beachified dad bods here in the South Bay of Los Angeles, I can attest to being in tune with the local scene as well as iconoclastic within it. Some of my muted rebellion does in fact spring from my old school New England roots through the patriarch route. It is that impulse as well as my very practical experience as a cyclist that compels me to eschew flip-flops. Entirely. All of my open summer shoes cover my toes and strap snugly around my heels. If I need to be more naked down there, I go barefoot. Such is the requirement at my dojo, for example. And no, I am not particularly pedicurious. If I'm out to heave you a roundhouse, you'll just have to accept whatever crumbly skin that comes loosely attached.

As I do enjoy letting my knees and calves get their vitamin D; as it is necessary squat and run for the occasional beach volleyball, and as the surf is often irresistible , the need for shorts is presented on these and warmer days. There are shorts for all occasions, but let us be brief. Cargo shorts are for the summer, period. They are the staple of short pants wearing in these environs when there is no specific sports-oriented requirements. Board shorts cover a lot of ground, bike shorts must be employed on long serious rides, and ever so occasionally the abbreviated mid weight chino short is appropriate for the neighbor's backyard BBQ at which you need no gear but your beer. I also enjoyed the novelty of plaid cargo bermudas a couple seasons ago. Yes they were Abercrombie, why do you ask?

Now I have been chagrined by the overuse of cargo shorts. I have witnessed dudes buying Christmas trees in the California rain in cargo shorts and flip-flops. It happens for all kinds of what I can only consider nihilistic reasons. This particular bro was not even helping put the tree onto the roof of his Range Rover, so... But for all the whys and wherefores one can gin up, the basic draw of cargo shorts is, in fact, their utility. The proper man has to have his walking around every day carry, and pockets are one of humanity's greatest inventions. Cargo pants are all about handling gear and kit. A man has to have his gear and kit.

The art of EDC is something that those of us of the Boy Scout persuasion are always refining. Especially for us writer types who spend a lot of time working in our home offices hacking minds whether silicon or carbon-based, each trip outside of the domicile requires its own outfitting. This is the male hunting and gathering instinct expressing itself in the urban context. I have a mental checklist that pings me as I grab the living room doorknob and prepare for my expedition to the hardware store, the mall, the meetup, the gym. About 20% of the time, that checklist is faulty, I must confess, and I find myself running back upstairs to add one or more items to my pocket menagerie. Most of the time, I'm ready, whether I'm packing for a 4 day trip to NYC, a long drive to Pasadena on a night when the Lakers are playing, or for a quick trip to the supermarket and the ATM. I'm going to pack my carry-ons, my backpack or my cargo shorts with the right stuff. When you are equipped and striding out into the world with purpose, that is the feeling that animates the awe inspiring confidence of slow motion walking video from Dodge City to Cape Canaveral. You know what I'm talking about, don't you brother? Damned right.

Now I understand and some feminine part of me sympathizes with the plight of those who are either too hidebound or purposeless as they are cowed into submission by the fashionistas who decry the call of the Carhartt. And I even give a moment of caring pause for those who lack the possession and purpose that necessitates their going out into the urban or rural wilds armed with nothing more than a Pokemon Go app. I admit that my heart-rate slows into a meditative Prius-like hybrid mode when I contemplate the countless millions on the planet who have neither pockets nor possessions with which to fill them. But then I remember that discovery always awaits; that it cannot be other than by the irresistible dares and wagers between boys that made the first oyster into a meal. The empty shells of proof must be snuck home under the noses of motherly authoritarian panoptics somehow. Pockets, by God! We'd inevitably invent them. And every boy's treasures, marbles, keys, feathers, snips and snails would be secreted into them and poured out proudly in our sanctums. And in those sacred moments either alone or with our running buddies, plans for more hunting and gathering would take place. We would thus gird our loins with pocketed pants ready for the challenges of the unknown, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be.

The very thought of pants without pockets, or pants too doubly-knit and tight to afford storage is cringe inducing. How many of us, suited and booted for some affair must reboot our instincts to place wallets and keys into inside jacket pockets? Or god forbid double pack a regular and a slim wallet with only three vitals cards? Money clips? Cigar torches? Yet another class of class signifying items needing to be placed on different parts of the body. But these are the requirements, as they come from time to time, pulling us out of our simple utilitarian habits for the purposes of external imperatives. Not that we wouldn't be prepared, mind you. There is in all of us the Batman who must from time to time show up as the impeccable and tipsy Bruce Wayne, even though we'd rather be Michael Clayton.

So I puzzle at what kind of insidious ball-busting is going on that we red blooded American males should be stripped of our cargo shorts. Of course cargo shorts are dignified, how could they not be, absent a campaign to discredit them? Could this be the opening salvo in the new multisexual wars? Could it presage the dawning of a period in the American timeline where all of the inventions of our boyish adventures are subject to a scrutinizing eye? I mean, skinny jeans and man buns are bad enough. Could it get worse? It might. Then again, I've also got cargo pants, with full legs and even bigger pockets. So do you, brother. We'll be prepared.

{Mike's generic faded green cargo shorts (from Target) were at the top of the clean clothes pile. in this lightweight EDC configuration: For the right hand is the CRKT Liong Mah #5 folder, Oakley paracord keychain with a Fenix E05. The paracord bracelet is from REI, and the iPhone 5S has the Mophie Juice Pack Plus. The Altoids tin is for small doodads like SD cards and actual mints. The wallet is a Boconi (nice stitching & external pocket), and that's my red Seiko 5 Automatic. The readers and ZeroUV mirrorshades were both 10.99. Also missing is my Victorinox Cadet, courtesy of the TSA. Thanks a lot, guys.}

Comments

My Cargo Cult

I've been told that cargo shorts are out. Sometimes we get annoyed out here in California that New Yorkers are truly disturbed and misled, but I have come to understand how Gotham's residents are presided over by a clique of zillionaires and their myrmidons in the fashionable press. Out here at the beach we cannot be bothered to read those sort of clippings with anything from something so prosaic as begins with 'Dunkin', as we have our smartphones read us more interesting fare as we sip loose leaf tea. So we are annoyed but calm as our eyebrows give ever so slightly towards creasing.

Speaking as one of the leading beachified dad bods here in the South Bay of Los Angeles, I can attest to being in tune with the local scene as well as iconoclastic within it. Some of my muted rebellion does in fact spring from my old school New England roots through the patriarch route. It is that impulse as well as my very practical experience as a cyclist that compels me to eschew flip-flops. Entirely. All of my open summer shoes cover my toes and strap snugly around my heels. If I need to be more naked down there, I go barefoot. Such is the requirement at my dojo, for example. And no, I am not particularly pedicurious. If I'm out to heave you a roundhouse, you'll just have to accept whatever crumbly skin that comes loosely attached.

As I do enjoy letting my knees and calves get their vitamin D; as it is necessary squat and run for the occasional beach volleyball, and as the surf is often irresistible , the need for shorts is presented on these and warmer days. There are shorts for all occasions, but let us be brief. Cargo shorts are for the summer, period. They are the staple of short pants wearing in these environs when there is no specific sports-oriented requirements. Board shorts cover a lot of ground, bike shorts must be employed on long serious rides, and ever so occasionally the abbreviated mid weight chino short is appropriate for the neighbor's backyard BBQ at which you need no gear but your beer. I also enjoyed the novelty of plaid cargo bermudas a couple seasons ago. Yes they were Abercrombie, why do you ask?

Now I have been chagrined by the overuse of cargo shorts. I have witnessed dudes buying Christmas trees in the California rain in cargo shorts and flip-flops. It happens for all kinds of what I can only consider nihilistic reasons. This particular bro was not even helping put the tree onto the roof of his Range Rover, so... But for all the whys and wherefores one can gin up, the basic draw of cargo shorts is, in fact, their utility. The proper man has to have his walking around every day carry, and pockets are one of humanity's greatest inventions. Cargo pants are all about handling gear and kit. A man has to have his gear and kit.

The art of EDC is something that those of us of the Boy Scout persuasion are always refining. Especially for us writer types who spend a lot of time working in our home offices hacking minds whether silicon or carbon-based, each trip outside of the domicile requires its own outfitting. This is the male hunting and gathering instinct expressing itself in the urban context. I have a mental checklist that pings me as I grab the living room doorknob and prepare for my expedition to the hardware store, the mall, the meetup, the gym. About 20% of the time, that checklist is faulty, I must confess, and I find myself running back upstairs to add one or more items to my pocket menagerie. Most of the time, I'm ready, whether I'm packing for a 4 day trip to NYC, a long drive to Pasadena on a night when the Lakers are playing, or for a quick trip to the supermarket and the ATM. I'm going to pack my carry-ons, my backpack or my cargo shorts with the right stuff. When you are equipped and striding out into the world with purpose, that is the feeling that animates the awe inspiring confidence of slow motion walking video from Dodge City to Cape Canaveral. You know what I'm talking about, don't you brother? Damned right.

Now I understand and some feminine part of me sympathizes with the plight of those who are either too hidebound or purposeless as they are cowed into submission by the fashionistas who decry the call of the Carhartt. And I even give a moment of caring pause for those who lack the possession and purpose that necessitates their going out into the urban or rural wilds armed with nothing more than a Pokemon Go app. I admit that my heart-rate slows into a meditative Prius-like hybrid mode when I contemplate the countless millions on the planet who have neither pockets nor possessions with which to fill them. But then I remember that discovery always awaits; that it cannot be other than by the irresistible dares and wagers between boys that made the first oyster into a meal. The empty shells of proof must be snuck home under the noses of motherly authoritarian panoptics somehow. Pockets, by God! We'd inevitably invent them. And every boy's treasures, marbles, keys, feathers, snips and snails would be secreted into them and poured out proudly in our sanctums. And in those sacred moments either alone or with our running buddies, plans for more hunting and gathering would take place. We would thus gird our loins with pocketed pants ready for the challenges of the unknown, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be.

The very thought of pants without pockets, or pants too doubly-knit and tight to afford storage is cringe inducing. How many of us, suited and booted for some affair must reboot our instincts to place wallets and keys into inside jacket pockets? Or god forbid double pack a regular and a slim wallet with only three vitals cards? Money clips? Cigar torches? Yet another class of class signifying items needing to be placed on different parts of the body. But these are the requirements, as they come from time to time, pulling us out of our simple utilitarian habits for the purposes of external imperatives. Not that we wouldn't be prepared, mind you. There is in all of us the Batman who must from time to time show up as the impeccable and tipsy Bruce Wayne, even though we'd rather be Michael Clayton.

So I puzzle at what kind of insidious ball-busting is going on that we red blooded American males should be stripped of our cargo shorts. Of course cargo shorts are dignified, how could they not be, absent a campaign to discredit them? Could this be the opening salvo in the new multisexual wars? Could it presage the dawning of a period in the American timeline where all of the inventions of our boyish adventures are subject to a scrutinizing eye? I mean, skinny jeans and man buns are bad enough. Could it get worse? It might. Then again, I've also got cargo pants, with full legs and even bigger pockets. So do you, brother. We'll be prepared.

{Mike's generic faded green cargo shorts (from Target) were at the top of the clean clothes pile. in this lightweight EDC configuration: For the right hand is the CRKT Liong Mah #5 folder, Oakley paracord keychain with a Fenix E05. The paracord bracelet is from REI, and the iPhone 5S has the Mophie Juice Pack Plus. The Altoids tin is for small doodads like SD cards and actual mints. The wallet is a Boconi (nice stitching & external pocket), and that's my red Seiko 5 Automatic. The readers and ZeroUV mirrorshades were both 10.99. Also missing is my Victorinox Cadet, courtesy of the TSA. Thanks a lot, guys.}